


Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley?

by arcticapple



Series: Crossover Dump [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Culture Shock, Dimension Travel, Gen, Let Ron say Fuck, Magic, Magical Creature, Mistaken Identity, Ninja, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, World Travel, timeline is my bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:40:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcticapple/pseuds/arcticapple
Summary: I) Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley? Ron wakes up in Uzushiogakure of all places. He has no idea how he got there but with his red hair and loud mouth he is destined to have fun times in the Narutoverse.





	1. Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley I

**Author's Note:**

> So I have this unhealthy obsession with crossovers and fandom fusions and this dump was bound to happen. For now I have about three HpxNaruto crossover ideas that just need little but fleshing out before I post them here. These will be mainly short-stories and one shots. Also Unbetaed because I'm a lazy bastard.

Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley?

Ron wakes up with face full of dirt and mouth tasting like something foul crawled up and died in his throat. All in all, a rather shitty way to start the morning.

  
_“Why is it so cold…”_

  
“And when had he gone to bed?”

  
His limbs feel heavy and cold and there is also a worrying sense of dread rising in the back of his head. This is not his bed. His bed is soft and warm and fluffy. His bed smells like pie and home.

  
His fingers twitch and grope and he’s clutching his hard-cold mattress, hands filling with dirt and sand.

  
_“wha-“_

  
Cold wind ruffles his hair, smelling like saltwater. He can hear waves and birds screeching in the distance. Seagulls, his sluggish mind uncertainly supplies, not quite certain if he’s truly awake or still dreaming.

  
“What…”

  
He sits up and looks around.

  
“No…”

  
He stares blankly at the ruins of old buildings. Sun is bright in the sky and there seems to be a sea in the background. He’s wearing his work clothes and can feel his wand pressing against his side through the robes.

  
His orange rucksack, the one he received from George just last week, is laying couple feet from him. Its bright orange colored and the Weasley’s Wizard Wheeze’s logo _WWW_ has been stitched neatly on the top part. It’s empty and just as shitty looking as Ron is feeling.

 

“But it’s _Sunday_ ,” he wails at the sky. “Why in the name of Merlin’s favorite pair of green socks do I have to deal with this shit on Sunday!”

  
There’s no answer, except for a pair of seagulls flying past him. One screeches like it’s laughing at him, the tosser.

  
He lays back down, rubs his face with sleeves and ponders. He’s been kidnapped. That much is clear. He is not tied up and there are no suspicious wankers in dark robes gloating at him or causing him pain so… that’s always good.

  
So, if he’s not been captured by Death eaters, Snatchers or Common Criminals… then what?

 

The odds that this is George’s fault are rather enormous. But then again, the odds that this is somehow indirectly Harry’s fault are not inconsiderable either.

  
George’s sense of humor had suffered since Fred died but apparently no tragedy would be enough to lessen the amusement an older brother would get from tossing their witless younger brother on what seems like inhabited island in the middle of nowhere.

  
Ron wrinkles his nose in distaste. As a joke, it’s a bit lame. If this is George’s fault Ron will simply find his way back home and kick his brother’s arse.  
But if this is somehow Harry doings… well…

  
His best friend’s luck could be called rather extreme on both ways and whacky adventures had become a yearly thing since they had first met.

  
“ _Harry_!” he calls and after moment of hesitation, “ _Hermione_!”

  
He listens for a moment but no one calls back. he’s alone.

  
“Right. Well…” he scratches his head and looks around, “Seems I got a mystery in my hands.” he looks suspiciously around.

  
“Who kidnapped Ron Weasley?”

* * *

 

There are fucking _runes_ on the ground.

  
He had almost walked away without noticing them because over three quarters of the doodles are being covered by dirt and odd patches of grass.  
Oh, and he had been sleeping on top of them.

  
The fact that he had woken up middle of what seemed like an incredibly complicated rune array did not escape his notice.  
The implications were rather… worrying.

  
He is no expert on runes by any means, knows only half a dozen of them by sight and is passingly familiar with twice of that amount.

  
There are hundreds and hundreds of little runes on the ground. Neatly carved into stone in rows and circles and not even one looks even remotely familiar to him.

  
Ron clutches his empty rucksack strap in one hand in indecision for a moment. Finally, he slips his hand in his pocket and pulls out his wand. With a hopeful expression, he foolishly taps the big ass rune circle twice and waits. Nothing happens.

  
“Typical.” he mutters. “That would be too easy, eh?”

 

Well, the doodles are useless. He has his wand, his clothes, his shoes and one empty orange rucksack.

  
And absolutely nothing else.

  
He gives a nervous glance towards the ruined buildings and tries to suppress the mental image of Hogsmeade in splinters.

  
He has no idea where he is, he has nothing to eat or drink and no way of contacting his friends or family. The wind is rather cold and despite the sun he is shivering.  
Investigating the old buildings should be the obvious first step but…

  
The whole place looks like it got torn apart all the way to hell and back, by an enraged flock of dragons. Dragons with _weapons_. Some blades were still stuck on the wooden walls. Some laid rusting on the ground half hidden by weeds.

 

And if that was not creepy enough, there were animal bones laying near him. Like everything else in the ruins, the skeleton was covered and dirtied by nature, only few scattered sun-bleached bones shone in the sunlight, sad and forgotten.

Only… they weren’t animal bones at all.

Ron swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry. Sweaty fingers clenching around his wand.

Here and there a pale shattered hand could be seen under the blanket of grass. A ribcage, a femur. a shattered skull.

Ghosts were not scary, he had met loads of them during his life.

He still did not want to approach the ruined village. It frightened him how violently these people had been killed. One small skeleton, obviously belonging to a child, was pitch black, bones half melted. Obviously burned.

He had been kidding about that dragons with weapons thing!

What had happened here? Why had no one buried these people?

  
Were they all… muggles?

  
Weapons and blades there were plenty but Ron could not see a single wand on the ground. Had they rotted and become part of the dirt or…?

 

Trying respectfully not to throw up, he crouched down over the nearest skeleton. With a moment of hesitation, he whispers “ _scourgify_ ” and tentatively started cleaning the dirt and vegetation away with gentle sweeps of his wand.

  
What he discovers does not help him in the slightest.

  
This person had been wearing robes… of sorts. Not like any Ron had ever seen. He had also been wearing some sort of armor over them, made from tough leather like material. Ron poked it slightly but it did not feel like dragon leather.

  
Near the skeleton’s skull there’s a metal plate, sadly hanging on to threats of what used to cotton or something similar.

  
Ron lifts the plate with his thumb and forefinger and squints at it. It’s rusted almost completely over but Ron can make out a spiral carved middle of it.  
Decoration? Not sure what’s he’s holding he puts it politely back and looks down at the fallen warrior. And warrior he must have been because…

 

The corpse is also holding a damn sword.

  
A honest to Merlin _sword_.

  
And not a western sword either. This one was eastern sword, Ron could not remember what it was supposed to be called.

  
It was covered in dark layer rusted blood.

 

The possibility of this being a former wizarding Village was becoming smaller and smaller.

  
But did muggles even use swords nowadays? Ron’s dad had been horribly enthusiastic about those foot-guns some years ago. Ron could still remember him gushing that they were almost as interesting as _escalators_.

 

Right, so, they had been fighting. A war perhaps? And lots of people had died.

  
It could not be a very recent war then. Muggles had aurors too, the pliize would have come and at least buried the poor people or arranged some other folks to do it.

 

But did muggles even wear robes? Surely not.

 

Ron was getting a headache.

* * *

 

Leaving the corpse for now Ron chose the least damaged building he could find and entered. The door was gone and the roof was hanging low and the inside was a dusty mess of fallen over furniture and broken glass. Ron half expected to find another skeleton and was pleasantly surprised to find the house empty.  
He would have a place to sleep if he was still stuck here when the night came.

Quietly tiptoeing over the floor, doing his best not to disturb any of the mess, he thought about what he should do next.

  
He needed a map. If he was near home he could just apparate back but if he was not… things would get little more complicated.

  
He would need clothes and food.

He began searching through the house. Near the entryway he found a pair of weirdest looking sandals he had ever seen but after looking at them he decided to put them aside.

He felt like a graverobber when he opened a closet in the entryway and found sturdy looking hooded capes. He guiltily took one big enough to fit him and hurriedly folded it inside his rucksack, trying very hard not to feel like he was stealing.

After looking around in a slightly paranoid manner he calmed down when no one came to whack him over the head for taking stuff that wasn’t his.

Moving on Ron collected a couple dark blue shirts and one of those odd robes the skeleton had been wearing. He was a tall person and was slightly surprised when he noticed that the clothes were slightly too large for him.

  
He felt rather terrible for just taking other people’s clothes but his situation was sort of an emergency and perhaps he could bury the dead in exchange?

As far as exchanged went, it was all quite morbid but Ron honestly couldn’t think of anything else he could do.

Guilty conscience quieted for now Ron proceeded to kitchen area. This room was slightly less messy, someone had left a grey pouch on the table to collect dust. Some of the cupboards had been left wide open and empty. After carefully searching through all the corners (firmly avoiding all spider webs) Ron found a package of some sort of dry biscuits.

He looked at them sadly, stomach empty but not really feeling all that hungry after all the death he had seen, and put them inside his rucksack.

He investigated the dusty pouch next. Insides were filled with assorted weaponry: more of those small blades that seemed to cover every surface outside, some sort of sharp star thingies, paper with more stupid runes on them, and a container full of smallish black pill things.

Feeling weary he sat down on the table, searching through his pockets he found his watch and looked at the time. It was nearing two o clock in the afternoon. And it was Sunday.

Ron hopes that someone will come to search for him soon. He was already getting quite sick of this adventure.

“This is much more fun with Harry and Hermione.” he tells the dusty weapon filled pouch, it doesn’t say anything back. A small mercy.

 

* * *

 

Remembering the chilly wind outside he takes off his own thinner robes and puts on the new weirder looking ones.

There’s a mirror in the hallway dusty like rest of this place. Ron wipes it clean with his sleeve and looks at himself.

  
His face is pale and dirty. Red hair messy and clearly uncombed. His new robe is warmer than the old one. The color is slightly boring looking dark blue and there’s a weird red swirly pattern sewn on the back of it.

  
Ron lifts his hands; the sleeves are wide and long and the collar of the robe is bit higher than he’s used to but perhaps it’s supposed to protect from the wind?  
There are no visible pockets which is annoying since he has no place for his wand now. After some frustrated searching, he finds a small pocket like place inside his sleeve of all places.

Red eyebrows twitching in annoyance he sighs and puts his wand there. Better than nothing.

“So that’s food and clothes,” he mumbles. “Now I need just a map… and some paper to write on.”

  
The chances of randomly coming across a trained post owl were close to nill, but perhaps he could hunt down one of those _mailmen_ and ask his letter to be delivered to Hermione’s parents (and then to Hermione.)

 

Rummaging across the house he finds paper easily enough in a room that reminds him of Headmaster’s office, full of books, scrolls and strange objects. There are no quills though. No pens either. What he does find is a Merlin damned _brush_.

 

_Why a brush?_

 

Ron is definitely getting an eastern vibe from these people. He better not be in Japan or some shit like that. He doesn’t think he can apparate from Japan to England. He doesn’t think he can even apparate from France to England.

But moving on, the good news is that Ron finds a map. There’s a huge map hanging on the study room’s wall and in a passable condition.

The bad news, well…

The map is a bit _weird_ …


	2. Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron does some grave digging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels uncomfortably like filler. I don't like it. More action in the next chapter. Sorry for grammar mistakes.

**Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley?**

**Part II**

 

There's a logical, reasonable explanation to this. He's sure of it. He's been hanging around Hermione long enough to know that much.

 

"So..." He looks at the absolute travesty of a map and says. "Whoever made this got _really_ , really drunk first."

Yes, that seemed logical. Logical and reasonable. Sane even.

But then again, he has been _kidnapped_ and there were those weird as fuck runes and there were lots of dead people just outside and if the sheer number of rusty swords and other blades was any indication people _really_ liked sharp things here.

And Ron had been hanging around with Harry Potter for the past eight to nine years.

 

Sometimes you didn't even need to go looking for trouble.

Sometimes the trouble would find _you_.

But even by their standards this was a bit too much, and wasn't that a fun thought.

Ron gazes at the map. At all the foreign lands and mountains. Lands he has never seen or heard of before spanning across the map. Standing before that wide undiscovered world Ron felt awfully claustrophobic.

He wanted to go home. The urge to just apparate was overwhelming. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth together. It might work, it could work. He could just... turn around and be back home.

It was a bad idea, he knew that but what if it _worked_.

He pictured his home in his head and started turning around, letting the familiar feeling of being squeezed from every direction wash over him, he could just-

A memory of pain froze him in his place. That day in the forest. He had been splinched. He remembered the pain suddenly and stumbled back against the wall and the map. He fell over his own feet and crashed down on the floor. The map crashed right on top of him, covering his face and filling his vision with darkness.

 

"...shit."

 

Ungracefully he stumbled back up clutching the map and looking blankly at nothing.

 

"So... food, clothes, a map." He looked down at the paper in his clutched hands. "What am I supposed to do now?"

 

There were dead people outside, laying in the ground forgotten. He didn't want to stay here with them.

 

"So, I'll just choose a direction and go there instead." He looked down at his new ( _old, dead person's_ ) robes and grimaced.

"Ah, I kinda did promise to bury them in exchange for the clothes and food didn't I?"

He wished that Pig was here. Pig was annoying and not very impressive looking but at least he would have been better company than the oppressive silence that had surrounded Ron since he stepped inside this ruined corpse of a house.

"Right, I'll go and do that then." Nodding to himself rather stupidly he started marching down the hall, map still in hand, only to stop and stare at the weapon pouch bit warily. He wrestled with the thought a bit, did he really need that many sharp-edged things with him?

Well he might, you never knew this sort of things in advantage, did you? He might need to skin a fish or something. He had always been pretty awful at cooking spells and had not improved much even during " _the camping trip"_ in what was supposed to be his, Hermione's and Harry's seventh year.

And the pouch had a punch of rune papers in it. He would need to take some with him and " _shudder,"_ do _research_. He probably would need to copy down that ridiculously big and complicated rune array outside too. And bury all those corpses while he was at it.

Fun times ahead.

He shoved the pouch, map, blank papers and _the brush_ down his orange rucksack with alarming amounts of fake enthusiasm and marched out of the house into the sunlight.

Or well, weak sunlight. It had gotten cloudier during the time he had been searching clothes and food.

"It better not start bloody raining!" He screamed at the cloudy sky.

Sun decided that moment to tentatively show itself behind the clouds. Weak rays of light warming his face.

"Thatäs more like it!"

Full of fake enthusiasm Ron walked fast towards the place he had woken up in. It took roughly five minutes of good walking to arrive to what now seemed to be the Village center. The ground was smooth here, more even carved stone than dirt and cobblestone.

 

"Good, good, very good. Now..." Ron sat down next to the rune array and pulled a sheet of paper out of his rucksack closely followed by his _brush_.

"I'll just copy the whole thing down, just about a billion teeny tiny runes how hard could it be, only..." he looked down at his brush. "I don't have any ink..."

 

Ron stared at the fucking brush blankly for a moment before violently shoving all his things pack in to the orange rucksack.

"Merlin fucking damnit, change of plan! First bury all the poor dead bastards, _then_ try to find some damn ink!"

Ron left his rucksack there middle of the array and walked away swearing.

"Can't believe I went to school for six whole years and not a single ink making spell, what the bloody fucking hell..."

Ron slowed his march and looked around himself. Loads of dead people meant loads of graves didnâ€™t it. Or maybe he could make one big one and put them all in there or would that be disrespectful?

Ron duck up his watch again and bit his lip. Almost four o clock. He had no idea when the sun set here Bumfuck of Nowhere but he would like to leave before dark.

"Right, so I'll make one big grave and I'll make it look real nice." Nodding to himself he rubbed his cold hands together and got to work.

He chose the place for the mass grave in a small meadow south of the village center. It was not too far and there were trees and flowers and the place seemed peaceful.

_He_ would not mind being buried in this sort of place, so hopefully no one would come back to complain. This world didn't need any more Moaning Myrtles.

( _This world...)_

 

Pulling out his wand he started shifting the ground. There was a cold weight in his chest when he remembered how he, Harry and Dean had once dug a grave with their own hands. For a single brave house-elf.

He felt guilty for doing this with magic. But... there were so many dead. Just by standing there and looking around he counted six piles of bones under the trees.

He could... perhaps carve a gravestone, like Harry had. But not with magic, with his own hands.

Once the grave was deep enough he started the labor of searching the dead. Most he could levitate gently, carefully down into the grave. But some were in so many pieces that he had to wrap the shattered parts in small bundles of raggedy cloth and then lower them down to be with their fellows.

 

And there were so many of them.

 

Ron worked tirelessly. Trying not to think too much of what he was doing. He absently noticed that many of the dead had the swirly pattern on their metal plates or had it sewed on their clothes.

The sun was setting by the time Ron had found the (hopefully) last pile of bones. He hesitated for a long moment before carefully taking this skeleton's metal plate and staring at it. He could carve the gravestone by modeling after this. And once he left he could ask around if anyone knew of people who wore this swirly mark and why no-one had bothered to bury them.

He slipped the plate in his sleeve and lowered the ground over the many bones that now mournfully lay there. Ron had counted them all.

When the ground settled Ron sat down for a moment.

There was a heavy feeling in his chest and in his stomach.

He didn't know these people. For all he knew they had been dead for decades perhaps even longer.

But...

It still reminded him starkly of the bodies lying in the great hall of Hogwarts. Of Tonks and Lupin. Of Colin Creevey and...

It was all so unbearably sad.

Ron started sniffling and felt pathetic. He couldn't quite bring himself to care. He's all alone and no one will see him. He could throw himself on the ground and wail as loud as he wished, and it wouldn't matter in the slightest.

He doesn't throw himself on the ground nor does he wail loudly. Ron had _some_ dignity left, thank you very much. Stiff upper lip and all that. Instead he daps his eyes dry with his sleeves and sniffs once rather audibly.

Right, so... a gravestone next. And some flowers.

Ron looks around for a large, flat stone. There are quite many big stones around but none of them seem appropriately flat. Ron searches with tired feet and finally settles on a slightly lumpy rock that after a cleaning spell, is rather beautiful shade of cloudy white.

Ron pulls out the rusty metal plate. Commits the exact shape of the swirl in his memory and crouches down.

He almost pulls out his wand too before he remembers. No magic.

How then... he could try scratching the surface with a smaller stone. Would that work.

Ron tentatively tries and grimaces. The lines are uneven and ugly.

He looks around for a better stone and sees a rusty blade instead.

That... might work better.

Ron takes the blade and grips it uncertainly. It's heavier than it looks and not all that dull looking despite laying forgotten on the ground for who knows how long.

Ron starts scratching the stone with the blade. The lines look much neater now. Slowly but surely, the picture of the swirl starts to emergence.

 

OoO

 

Ron is almost swaying on his feet once he is done. The sun has set ages ago. Looks like he can't leave today after all.

He looks at his work. At the grave and at the stone. The swirly pattern looks bright on the stone, oddly noticeable despite being such a simple picture.

Ron heaves a heavy sigh and waves his wand in slow arcs across the freshly turned soil. Stems start to grow from the dirt and leaves reach for the missing sun. Flowers bloom cheerfully in the night and Ron can't help but to stare.

Orange. Why _orange_. Was he absently thinking of Chudley Cannons when he started growing them?

Smile tugs at his lips. For the first time in a quite a while. Ron thinks that someone like Luna might plant eye searingly orange flowers on a mass grave too and..  that's a weirdly comforting thought.

There's not much left to do. Ron tries to awkwardly think of something respectful to say. Something meaningful and deep. Something someone wise like Dumbledore might say.

Like an echo through years Ron can hear his former Headmaster's words; _Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!_

_I can't say that._ Ron thinks with horror. _What the hell brain?_

He's clearly more tired than he thought.

There's nothing to say. Ron cannot think of anything to say that would capture the tragedy of whole village dying and then being left to rot.

In the end, he gives the silent grave a clumsy but solemn nod that is almost a bow and leaves.

It has gotten so dark that he had to walk in the light of his wand. His rucksack is where he left it, he slides it on one shoulder and staggers back to the somewhat livable house. There he collapses on a dusty, moldy bed and sleeps.

Tomorrow he will leave for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be longer but fuck it. Ron fell asleep middle of it, the lazy sod.  
> And this is still a short-story. And will be open ended... propably. Part III is on it's way.  
> Comments make the author ridiculously happy.


	3. Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So much rowing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I moved, I got a new job and my old computer died taking all my previous writings with it.  
> It also took a long while for Ron to wake up, dat lazy boy.  
> Grammar sucks, I know. I was feeling lazy.

**Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley?**

**Part III**

Ron wakes to the sound of his own snoring. He's vaguely aware of something wet trailing down his chin and absently wipes it away with his sleeve while blinking his blurry eyes at the dusty ceiling.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim morning light. His head is still heavy from the sleep and there appears to be a small spider hanging down on a thread in front of his face.

Ron takes a moment to process this.

The spider waves its legs in what appears to be excitement and Ron has a moment of flashbacks from very traumatic second year trip to the woods.

" _Gah_!"

To his credit he does not scream but the mad roll he makes to get out of bed is anything but graceful. Once he hits the floor he does not stop the rolling, he keeps going until he hits the opposite wall and then staggers into a standing position and whips out his wand out to point it at the _disgusting_ creature.

Only it's not there anymore.

Ron blinks stupidly at the wall and then scowls at the ceiling. While there are quite many webs hanging there he cannot see a single spider in them.

Weird.

Oh well. Ron is certainly not going to complain about the _lack_ of spiders.

With his heart still racing and breath just now evening out he feels far more awake than two minutes ago.

He has slept in his new/old robes to ward off the chill of the broken house. He slaps most of the dust away and decides to ignore the rest, more concerned about breakfast. His stomach feels empty and his mouth feels dry and gross. All this adding to his already foul mood.

There is still no ink to be found, so he gives up rather cheerfully on copying the weird runes on the town centre. He figures, that If he must, he can always just come back later.

Concentrating on his hunger and thirst he starts planning what to do next.

Water is thankfully not an issue. While he has yet to see any freshwater sources on the whole island he can use a simple sixth-year charm ' _aguamenti'_ to cast clear water from the tip of his wand.

He has no goblet or even a mug to hold the water, but he manages to fix a shattered bowl with a quick _reparo_ andwipe most of the dust away from it with his sleeve.

While the water is lukewarm it feels great going down his parched throat. He's uncomfortably aware his teeth need brushing.

He ends up drinking the whole bowlful of water, feeling surprisingly thirsty. But when he remembers the amount of labor he did yesterday without a single cup of water between, perhaps it should be expected.

With his thirst taken care of he feels even more hungry. That's little more difficult to take care of. Why is that? Food is the first exception to the Gamp's law of elemental trasfiguration. It does not allow food to be conjured or transformed from nothing. That's why.

He's going to remember that stupid law rest of his life, isn't he?

He eats the dry biscuits he found the day before, trying to make them last longer and not quite managing.

With some desperation he double checks the empty pockets of his orange rucksack. The dusty poach with pointy things has a bunch of those black round pill things but Ron has developed a healthy suspicion for unknown foods and drinks since that little poisoning incident in his sixth-year and leaves them be.

He finally finds _something_ in a small overlooked side-pocket on the left side of his rucksack.

With some careful digging he comes up with a crumpled looking but relatively whole Chocolate Frog package.

Ron holds it in both of his hands like a divine object. His stomach growls and his mouth waters looking at the small sweet.

But... This is his only Chocolate Frog and Merlin only knows when he can buy more.

Experience tells him he should save it. For a really bad day.

For a day when it's difficult to feel happy.

" _Eat, you'll feel better."_

Professor Lupin really knew his stuff.

Ron carefully puts the chocolate Frog and his shiny new bowl back into his rucksack and gets up with some effort.

"I guess I'll just have to go fishing, eh?"

* * *

The sea wind messes his already tangled hair into even bigger crow's nest, and makes him squint against it. Sun is shining cheerfully not a cloud in sight. All in all, the weather is fair, and the scenery is beautiful. Ron scowls unhappily at the sea anyway.

With an _accio_ the fish does not so much jump as fly from the sea water as it propels its way towards him and smacks him right middle of his face. He goes flying down on his back with his legs swinging and he ends up rubbing his stinging nose with his palms swearing.

"You know, it's during times like this that I'm bloody glad no one's here to see me." He confines to the fish while grimacing, the fish flops around not looking at all sympathetic.

He gutses and cleans the fish with one of the odd-looking knives. Cooking spells have never been his forte and he doesn't want to accidentally waste food when he is feeling so desperately hungry.

There is, about half an hour of anxious sitting and waiting while the fish cooks in hastily conjured flames. When the food is done he digs in without care for table manners of any kind.

"Ah, thas be'ter," He tells a nearby seagull with his mouth full. The bird is looking at his fish with a calculating gleam in its eyes. Ron gives it a glare and throws a stone at it.

The bird just hops couple steps further and keeps on staring, but Ron feels better anyway.

Once his stomach is relatively full, he's feeling charitable enough to throw the fish guts and fins at the dumb bird. The thing jumps on the leftovers immediately and two other seagulls appear quickly from out of nowhere. Predictably fight breaks out. Ron is feeling oddly cheered just by looking at the birds fighting over scraps. It somehow reminds him of family dinners.

"Although mom is a better cook than me." He says quietly. "Much, much better..."

Not willing to dwell in his gloomy thoughts he briskly gets up. Time to get on with the plan 'Let's get the hell out of the creepy murder Island.'

Right then. Step one: get to the shore. accomplished.

Step two: Find a boat.

There's not much to see on the shore. Just sand, rocks and broken pieces of boats.

Ron walks around for a while. Trying to find a wreckage with most pieces retained. almost all the boats are rotten, wooden hulls in several pieces, over half those missing, taken away by the sea.

He finally finds one up at the shore and safe from the sea. The boat is in pieces like the rest, but the wood does not seem rotten at all and most of the pieces seem to be where he can see them. Progress.

" _Reparo_."

The blanks jump back together. Some of them wiggle their way up from the sand where the splinters have laid buried.

In no time at all Ron has a one rather ratty looking boat.

"Things are looking up, aren't they?" Ron gleefully smiles at his new magnificent boat. "I'm going to call you Lemon drop."

With a quick check for any possible holes at the bottom of his new boat, Ron declares Lemon drop sea ready.

As for oars.

Well, Ron finds _one_ , that will have to do.

* * *

Ron doesn't know much about currents. Or the sea in general. He doesn't let this tiny detail bother him.

According to his weird map he should be going to north to find land.

Finding north is easy enough. He holds his wand on his palm like a compass needle and whispers ' _point_ _me_ _north'_ every fifteen minutes or so.

He has been making slow progress by throwing repulsion spell behind him and by rowing from side to side with his single oar.

_Slow_ progress being the key word here.

This becomes irritatingly obvious the third time his boat starts drifting back to the shore when he wants it to go to the _opposite_ direction.

Learning to steer his stupid boat takes about an hour of profound swearing, rowing and inventive use of repulsion charms.

Finally, _finally_ , he's leaving the creepy island behind him. He has no earthy idea exactly where he is going but at least he is going somewhere _else_.

His cheer last roughly thirty minutes. Then come the whirlpools.

Ron starts his profound swearing anew.

* * *

He's alive. That much he can say right now. The sun has started setting and his arms feel about ready to fall off from all the wild rowing and frantic wand waving he has been forced to do to save himself from drowning.

But he's alive. Somewhat.

Ron would literally sell his only sister for some _Gillyweed_ right about now.

Or wait. Would Gillyweed even help here. With all the shitty currents and even shittier _whirlpools_ he would just get tossed around the ocean until shark ate him or something.

He fills his bowl with some lukewarm water and sips at it, trying to think.

He's going to the right direction. He is sure of that. Or fairly sure. Somewhat sure at least. _Ahem_.

But he is getting very hungry again and the sun is going down. Ron hasn't much liked his boating trip so far and he thinks he will like it even less during night.

If he gets eaten by a shark that damn Krum is going to laugh at his funeral, he just knows it. Not to mention _Malfoy_ -

Feeling aggravated enough to be just slightly suicidal, Ron pulls out one small black pill from his rucksack.

Ron glares at it in suspicion. It's murky colored and smells faintly medical. Gulping he holds it tighter. Faintly wishing he had some bezoar at hand he takes a ridiculously tiny bite and swallows.

_The pill is_ _ disgusting _ _._

Ron coughs, fills his mouth with water, swirls it around his mouth and spits it all over the board, trying his darnest not to throw up.

' _It's somehow worse than Skelegrow.'_ Ron thinks in dazed amazement. 'And _nothing is worse than Skelegrow.'_

Busy trying to keep his breakfast down it takes him a moment to notice the tingling feeling in his limbs. He blinks down at his fingers and flexes them. He has been working hard with little food, so his hands have been trembling most of the day but now they feel steady. He feels warmer, little stronger. His hunger is still present, but it doesn't gnaw at his stomach with the same intensity as before.

He raises his eyebrows at the black pill in amazement. This thing was like a Pepper Up potion, Strengthening Solution and good kick in the arse all rolled into one ugly pill.

He hurriedly opens the weapon pouch and counts the pills in his possession. Including the one he is holding he has twelve pills.

He can survive to the shore with twelve pills. For sure. But first-

Trying very hard not to taste Ron shoves the entire pill in his mouth and starts vigorously chewing.

* * *

Ron's arms feel like two wet noodles, but he wasn't willing to rest quite yet. The power rush he had gotten from the pill was fading but there was still a smidgeon left and he wanted to use it.

The night was dark with the moon only showing itself occasionally from between the clouds before disappearing again.

Ron had first tried see by using ' _Lumos'_ But that had made rowing impossible.

In the end he had set his new bowl near the front of his boat and whispered an old spell from his first year in Hogwarts.

Blue flames were dancing merrily in his bowl, warm and nostalgic in their appearance. Hermione had kept them in a jar and hid it behind her back when Snape had come snooping. Ron still remembered. Even though it had been such a long agoâ€¦

The night was dark but for a moment he imagined Harry and Hermione here with him.

' _Almost there.'_ Someone whispered. _'Just keep going.'_

' _You are almost there'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just wrote two thousand words about rowing, dear merciful Merlin.  
> If I remember correctly I promised more action in this chapter, I'm so very sorry for lying.  
> Please leave a comment anyway because I'm a weakling who needs validation.


	4. Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron is hungry and complains a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four. Sorry it took so long.

 

* * *

 

 

**Who Kidnapped Ron Weasley? IV**

* * *

Ron snaps his head back up. Unsure exactly when he has let his chin fall against his chest, blurry eyes blinking rapidly.

It takes him roughly five heart-beats to understand his boat has stopped moving and ten more to understand why.

His boat is sitting pretty on a dark sandy shore.

There is some odd mixture of hope and dread in him. Swirling in his belly like those blasted Whirlpools.

Ron is not sure if he has made it to the other shore or if the currents have tossed him back to the Creepy Murder Island.

He should probably check.

His limbs feel heavier than lead when he scoops up his bowl of merry bluebell flames and his trusty, orange rucksack. Somehow the thought of using his wand to make light doesn't even cross his exhausted mind.

He staggers few steps up the shore and looks around. There are rocks and sand. Some trees growing in the distance and- Oh look, more sand. Not at all different from the Murder Island yet.

The moon deigns to show itself and it makes looking around considerably easier. Up the shore, where the sand ends and the forest begins, Ron can see a narrow pathway winding through the short, gnarly trees.

"Huh," Ron huffs. Tired to the bone but happy enough to be on dry land.

Ron is... _fairly_ certain He's not on the Murder Island anymore. The trees look slightly different, and he can see tall mountains in the distance, where the Murder Island only had hills.

He sighs in obvious relief, finding it hard to keep his eyes open. Judging by the position of the moon he has been rowing a whole day and better part of the night.

He's too tired to even feel hunger. The thirst is ignorable in his sheer need to sleep. With a sluggish wave, his happily dancing blue waves shrink and disappear completely.

His options regarding dry sleeping places are not overwhelming. While he is perfectly happy to never see another boat ever again, it will have to serve as a bed in lack of anything better.

Ron slumps down, places his rucksack under his head as a pillow and passes out more than falls asleep.

* * *

Ron dreams an old dream of going to buy shoes of all things. Harry is beside him. Telling him in an even, serious tone that he's going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow, any day now.

He blinks his dry eyes open to the obnoxious sound of birds singing.

The Morning is bright and shining. The sun rising over the sea almost poetry worthy.

Ron hates it all with a rather epic passion.

_Water_. He needs water, his throat is really dry but he's not really all that hungry. That... That might be bit bad. He ate a fish yesterday. And some pills. A Seriously kickass pills, but still. He should be hungrier than this.

Those pills had filled him with copious amounts of almost burning energy, perhaps they can keep hunger at bay as a bonus?

Whatever. He conjures water from his wand and drinks deeply and thinks.

Should he go along the shore and hope to meet someone that way, or should he try to make his way through the unknown forest?

Common sense says: go along the shore. He has way too much, ah- respect towards unfamiliar woods. * _coughspidersgiantscentaurscough_ *

He is stiff like an old man but bullies himself up and hoists his rucksack to his back. It's considerably heavier now than it was couple days ago.

"Right, so," Ron bites his lip in concentration and let's his wand rest on his palm."Point me the nearest human."

His wand spins, and spins and finally points... towards the woods.

Ron doesn't even feel like cursing anymore. That has never happened before. He's so damn tired of all this shit he's starting to get all _resigned_ and _passive_.

"Okay, off you go then chap," Ron slaps at his own cheeks and tries to muster up some small measure of enthusiasm. It's not really working. And he keeps talking to himself. Luna would be proud.

"Just a little more and I can get out of here and then-" Ron smiles at the strange forest manically."Then I'll find whoever kidnapped me and feed them to _Noberta_!"

Cheered up by that lovely mental image, Ron starts to briskly make his way towards the almost invisible dirt path.

The pathway is thankfully quite even, and he even manages to start cursing again when he gets hit on the face by a tree branch what feels like the sixth time.

He's so done with his stupid adventure that he can't even put it to words anymore.

Like in the boat, he keeps checking his direction every fifteenth minute or so. His wand guides him deeper and deeper into the forest. The trees are tall and weird. And the farther he goes the taller and weirder they get. Some he recognizes by sight and some he does not. Neville would be having the time of his life here.

Ron just hopes he doesn't fall into a pit full of _devilsnare_. That would be the perfect ending for this whole fiasco.

"I'm gonna _sue_ that kidnapping bastard or bastards," Ron mutters savagely under his breath, "Or better yet, I'm gonna let Mum deal with them. That should be the end of them-"

There's a wet sounding slurp when his feet hit the ground. Ron frowns and looks around. The trees are as huge as before but now they are more- pine like. Some leafy ones are still around but not as many as before. The ground is wetter, almost spongy, and Ron can smell water nearby.

" _A swamp_ ," Ron snarls with twitching left eye."Of course. Let's make a path through a bloody swamp, why the hell not!"

A pair of magpies get startled into flight. Ron is too busy throwing a fit to notice.

Then someone is yelling in distress and Ron's head snaps towards the sound all rage forgotten.

"I'm coming!" Ron's feet keep slapping against the wet marshland, occasionally almost sinking. "Keep making noise. I'm almost there!"

Ron jumps over a bush and finally sees the source of the racket. There's an old lady in the swamp. Sinking at unnatural speed. Almost like something is-"

Ron narrows his eyes while hurriedly stretchin' his hand toward the old lady.

"Hey, grab onto me!"

The old lady screeches something in a language Ron doesn't quite understand and grabs onto his hand with her wrinkly ones.

There's something in the water. Ron can't make it out, but it's yanking at the old lady's robes violently. Threatening to send both her and Ron into the swamp.

" _Repulso_ ," Ron almost hisses, feeling so incredibly pissed at the world in general. The creature- whatever it is- hisses back but flinches enough that Ron manages to lift the old lady away from the water.

There's a splash as the creature- That Ron has files under ' _things_ _that Hagrid likes'_ \- gives another go but Ron kicks out sharply and manages to hit its head.

After showing him some sharp teeth, the damn thing thankfully gives up and dives under the surface. There's an almost awkward silence, where the old lady clutches Ron's hand and tries to catch her breath, while Ron, sort of... pats her on the back.

"Good job, not getting eaten," Ron encouragingly says because he's an sensitive and tactful person like that.

The old lady blinks at him spectacles askew. _Half-moon spectacles_ \- Ron notes with some distant nostalgia.

She's a tiny old thing, but her grip on his hand is strong and Ron hopes she doesn't plan to have a heart-attack or anything.

"Umm," Ron wavers in the definitely awkward silence now and decides to shake her hand." _Since she is already holding it and all."_

"Ron Weasley," Ron says and gives her a winning smile. Or what he hopes is a winning smile, he's starting to vaguely feel like that tool Lockheart.

"Pleasure to meet you." Ron manages to force out with some desperation. She's still staring at him, eyes wide.

Oh, Merlin she's a Muggle isin't she. Did she notice him doing magic?

The old lady lowers her gaze from Ron to their hands- that Ron still keeps shaking like a loon- and says something starting with 'U' that Ron doesn't understand in the least.

"Um, I'm sorry ma'am I- I don't- Understand you. Ron wants to say, but is interrupted By a loud growling noise.

They both twitch and snap their heads to look at the swamp in case the creature has returned. But the swamp is empty and the monstrous, growling noise is-  
\- Is coming from _Ron's stomach_.

He feels his face heating up and grimaces in sheepish embarrassment as the noise just _keeps going._

"Ah," Ron scratches his dirty cheek and smiles wobbily at the wet ground, "Er..."

The old lady snorts, audibly. Ron blinks down at her, and oh- she is smiling.

His hand, still in hers is being tugged. She pauses for a moment to lift a wicker basket from the grass and starts towing Ron behind her with a great sense of purpose.

Ron's legs are longer but somehow he still needs to jog to keep up with her stride.

He doesn't mind that he is being led. The old lady seems to know where she is going. And indeed it seems in no time at all he starts seeing smoke rising from chimneys in the distance.

" _People_!" Ron cheers in his mind _"Food!_ _Human interaction!"_

_'A way to go home'_ says some overly positive part of his brain.

* * *

There's a steaming bowl _chicken_ and _noodles_ and _onions_ in front if his nose and a big possibility that he might start weeping soon.

Ron's new best friend — _move out of the way Harry_ — The old lady,— or Mrs. Sumire as she had carefully pronounced and had him repeat after her no less than six times — was pouring him a glass of water with calm, even fingers. An opposite image of Ron's twitchy, shaking hands, that he was sorely tempted to shove into the bowl, never mind the heat.

Finally, she said something that Ron hoped was "Eat like a pig."because that was presicely what Ron did for the next ten minutes straight.

When he comes back up for air for few seconds, she was staring at him with wide, vaguely horrified eyes. Ron had abandoned the chopsticks she had kindly given him somewhere during the beginning of the meal. Opting to inhale the food straight from the bowl like a starved dog instead.

Her raised eyebrows reminded him vividly of Hermione and what she might say about his table manners- or the lack of them really.

With a last slurp he forced himself to lower the bowl back onto the table and was already smiling sheepishly with apologetic air, when the old lady- Mrs. Sumire frowned.

Feeling worried Ron looked down at the table. He hadn't spilled anything had he? Mrs. Sumire had been remarkably understanding while he was eating like this was his last meal. Even Mum might have made him at least use a fork, no matter how starved he was. But what was she frowning _at_ -

Oh, while he had been inhaling his food, trying to get every last drop from the bowl, his sleeves had fallen down revealing the old, rope like, scars on his arms.

He lowered his sleeves with a different kind of embarrassment. It wasn't often that random strangers saw his scars and he understood the frown now. They were very unpleasant to look at.

She looked him in the eye with a weirdly intense look and said something in a concerned tone.

"These are pretty old By now," Ron told her and tapped his cloth covered left arm. "Got attacked By brains, believe it or not." Ron grinned knowing she couldn't understand him.

It was difficult to feel uneasy about anything at the moment. His stomach felt blissfully full and there was a surprising warmth running alongside his veins. He had not realised how cold he was if warm food made him feel like _this_.

The warmth was swirling pleasantly in his stomach, almost like he had taken a generous sip of fire whiskey.

"I can do the dishessh" Ron slurred, feeling very tired. Tired and warm. Fighting to keep his eyes open.

Mrs. Sumire tutted something at him, and he thought he heard something that might have been his name, when strong arms were tugging at him again.  
Ron didn't put up much of a fight. He was herded into a dim room with a mattress of some sort laid on the floor.

His arm was released, and he pretty much collapsed on the spot. Almost asleep the moment his head hit a pillow.

Mrs. Sumire once again said something incomprehensible from the doorway and then-

"Sleep."

_"Ah. I understood that._ "Ron thought as he dozed off.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fishing grannies from swamps. Just another day for a Gryffindor.  
> When it comes to language problems between dimensions I HeadCannoned the shit out of this. Props if anyone notices where I am going with this. I... may have to make this into a fic of its own. I keep adding shit. Like I want Ron to go there and meet that one person and.... *wails*

**Author's Note:**

> It's always Harry or Hermione who gets thrown in different worlds and acts as a main character isin't it? Well this particular short-story will be all about Ron. I'm gonna have fun with him.  
> This also got a bit longer than I thought it would. There will be part II soon and almost certainly part III. We are not even close where my MAIN idea for this short story started but we are getting there. There are also at least two other crossover ideas I'm currently fleshing out.


End file.
